Faults
by Weezila
Summary: Tony Stark continuously alternates between being the egotistical genius playboy we love, calling all the world to kneel before him, and a self-destructive, self-loathing man who can't even look Captain America in the eye much less think up a solid reason his life is worth a dime. LOTS of Tony angst for his less than mighty moments.
1. The Cold of the Ice

**Hello Internet:**

**Warning, there's a shit-ton of angst in here. **

**Secondly, this is going to be a series of one-shots of just how screwed up and awesome the one and only Tony Stark is. **

**Thirdly, I kinda want to turn this into one of those stories like "oh, the team gets transported into Tony's mind and they see how screwed up and totally not like himself he really is" but I have no idea how to do that in a way that **_**isn't**_** totally ripping off someone else's idea. I need time to figure that out, but in the mean time I just love these one-shots and think they can be units in themselves. Don't correct me if I'm wrong, I really don't care. **

**And, I think I'll get around to doing that proper story that encompasses angsty one-shots from the entire team, but it just so happens there are **_**a lot**_** more for Tony because he's, like, **_**Tony.**_

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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"_Sir, Director Fury of S.H.E.I.L.D is on the line." _Jarvis's monotone broke in from the blare of music in the lab.

Tony glanced up from where he was fiddling with the hologram of his latest repulsor design. "Oh, and what does old Popeye want? Another contract? Because I swear the _firewalls_ on that guy-"

"_Sir, he says you would want to know immediately."_

Tony huffed and pushed the hologram away. Director Fury always managed to piss him off, if for no other reason than he was equally as good at keeping secrets as he himself was.

Which meant Tony mistrusted his very existence, and was rather annoyed the man kept calling to talk weapons. He wasn't _interested_ in weapons he wasn't using for his suit, _thankyouverymuch. _Every single weapon he _did_ make was tracked with so much meticulous care that Tony could list off the top of his head where each one in the world was currently with 97.4% accuracy. Shield didn't like giving up their secrets, but they needed weapons. Tony did weapons, but he did NOT do secrets—at least, not when he wasn't in on them. It was a constant impasse that had given both he and Fury more migraines than they could count.

"Fine, put him through." Tony snapped unhappily.

"_Stark."_

"What'd you want?" He demanded dismissively. But there was a pause, which immediately struck Tony as extremely odd and incredibly bad. Fury didn't hesitate or mince words—again, another trait he abhorred to admit he shared with the man.

"…_we found him."_

Tony froze.

Every cell in his being stopped for that one moment.

Then he felt his artificial heart shatter.

_0000000 Later 0000000_

Who knows how long later he was standing in a lab so secure its very presence was doubted even by the hundreds of agents currently working in the complex. Fury himself was walking them down, Coulson accompanying them with the ever-present agent Hill shadowing silently behind.

He could never know what Fury was thinking, but Coulson at least was relaxed enough to spare him an excited smile after awhile. Even the stoic Hill smiled a bit every time the discovery was mentioned.

Somehow, the chipper mood only made Tony feel more depressed. Angry even.

At the same time he _was_ happy. How the holy hell was that possible? How could he be as excited as a child on Christmas, curious beyond belief, completely dreading and nearly convinced he should just kill himself right there, all at the same time?

His head was spinning, and for a man who could figure out fourteen different higher level quantum physics equations, three hundred pages of code, and four new project designs complete with extensive experimental calculations all simultaneously in his brain without so much as blinking, that was most certainly saying something. He felt sick, he felt like he wanted to cry or yell and slap that goofy smile off Coulson or punch Fury in his good eye and yet all he could decide on was to simply follow, and watch.

"Where?" He asked, surprising even himself with how even his voice came out.

"Just north of the Arctic circle." Coulson answered easily. "Radiation from the old bombs he had on board distorted our readings while searching, but the satellite program you developed for us in seeking out the remaining Starktech was able to compensate and pinpoint it."

Tony almost let out a hysterical laugh, but schooled himself just in time.

So it was his fault?

Well, fault was a strong word, it wasn't _fault_ so much as…

Yes, it was his fault.

He had designed that program to hash out every corner of the earth in which his weapons had landed, so he could either track them and their uses or destroy them as need be. He supposed…in a way… that stupid shield was Starktech too. Vibranium was one of the—if not _the—_rarest substance on the planet; the only people on earth who'd accumulated more than unusable traces by accident was the Stark family. Tony had used it a couple times in his more special creations, things he'd wanted back immediately once he realized they weren't being used for good, but the program had been set, and then…

It was all his fault.

Not that he wasn't happy, not that it wasn't his program and his funding, not that this wasn't what his father had spent every spare moment of his life trying and failing to do whereas Tony succeeded _inadvertently_, but it just…

He felt like something inside him was off. He couldn't place it. Contrary to popular belief, while he may have act self-absorbed, but he was actually the most self-_aware_ person on the planet.

He knew his faults better than anyone could ever know themselves or know another person. He knew them, and he worked with them.

_This_ was one of his faults, but he had no clue where to go with it—it was one of the only unresolved things left in his world. For all his life he'd been ignoring it in the extremely useless hope that it'd just go away.

Captain _freaking_ America.

Steve Rodgers, as his father would never for a second let him forget, had been a better man than Tony would ever be. Apparently, he still _was_ a better man, seeing as he wasn't entirely dead just yet.

And before he knew it he was there, in a room full of highly amped up scientists trying to tackle the problem in front of them: how to get the world's greatest hero out a huge block of ice without killing him further.

"We got him half out, intending on a proper burial, when they realized he was still alive." Fury said, walking towards the center of all the fuss. Tony didn't want to look, but at the same time he was dying to—and it wasn't like he was about to show weakness in front of the man he mistrusted most in the world. "This is Dr. Kane, he's been in charge so far, but they've hit a snag." He introduced to a haggard looking man, tall and thin but with a fiery determination in his eyes.

"The Captain _is_ alive," He said, jumping right into the task at hand as he greeted Stark with a nod. "His heart is beating at sub-EKG frequency, but spikes in abnormal radiation caused us to look more into it and realize it was still functioning, if not slightly frozen over. The strange radiation is keeping his cells from decaying, but they're not allowing the serum he was injected with to fully heal them. The more we unfreeze, the more damage we fear we're doing, but as it stands we simply just don't know much for sure." He explained quickly.

"Must be the serum," Tony said shortly. _This_ he knew: he could talk all day about science, just not… everything else clouding his head. "It had altered versions of radioactive ions forced into a diatomic state; it probably stayed in his cells and is keeping permafrost from taking over." He recited quickly. At Fury's raised eyebrow he scoffed loudly. "Don't give me that, you know Howard was obsessive over this stuff. That was the main reason he never thought Rodgers was dead." He dropped the information without care, not bothering to give a damn about the significant looks the agents—and scientists— were giving each other.

Yes, he knew a little about the super soldier serum. His father had known quite a lot, but he refused to admit it, too caught up in his belief that only the great _Steve Rodgers_ could handle it. To this day, he remained right, but only because Shield and everyone else was getting involved and turning people into monsters. Only Bruce Banner and his Hulk had ever come close, and in Tony's oh-so-not-quite-humble opinion, Banner had pulled it off better.

Truth be told, from what Tony knew of the serum, if he hadn't been a firm believer in the power of science, he might even say it was a miracle Rodgers hadn't gone green instead. It seemed that was what the serum was _actually_ designed to do, except it had been gentler to the young solider it was tested out on for some unknown reason. Perhaps Howard had known what that reason was and that was why he never spoke about the serum save for the couple drunken rants Tony had been on the receiving end of as his father had babbled about long lost experiments, the serum included.

He'd heard enough to know what to do if he were so ever inclined to try the serum out again. Howard knew _exactly_ what to do but refused to say it aloud in the silent belief no one would ever be good enough to deserve that kind of power except his long lost friend. He remained silent about it even as he was ridiculed for continuing a search everyone had given up on, because he alone knew that the serum had to power to keep Rodgers alive. So, the serum remained secret in the Stark family, but for two very different reasons.

Tony pushed those thoughts aside too. Despite Dr. Kane's wide-eyed, eager look, he wasn't giving out what he knew of the serum, and that was that. So many people had died for it, and _he_ personally had lost… _everything_, in a way, indirectly because of it. Because of it and the hope it gave, Howard had spent his and Tony's entire life obsessed beyond logic. He hated the thing, hated it with a passion he just wanted to strangle, so… no. The secret of the serum was going to die with him, whenever fate chose that time to be.

"Well… apparently we made a good call in contacting you then. Do you think you can help us get him out?" Dr. Kane asked urgently, deciding the shelf the fact Tony obviously knew more than he was going to openly admit.

As he spoke, it was obvious to Tony—looking at all the people frantically trying to figure out a way to fix this—that the good captain still meant a lot to people. Tony doubted anyone here hadn't been told as a child at some point of the greatness that was Captain America.

Some small part of him wanted to answer 'no'. It wasn't as if the captain would die—he _couldn't_ die, not from frostbite anyway.

At the same time he was over the moon, getting to be the one to finally get that nagging voice in the back of his head that constantly told him he'd never be as great as his father or the hero his father had worshiped to shut up, getting to be the one to _save_ that hero.

At the same time he felt sick.

Of course he _could._ He already knew the answer to the problem he already knew would present itself if the captain had ever been found after floating for 70 years in a block of ice. He already knew what buttons to press, what calculations to run, what chemicals to call up.

Simple.

He still felt sick.

Finally, he could prevent himself no more, he finally _looked_ at the man that was still half frozen on the lab table, still frozen in uniform with that damn shield resting as if on a pedestal on a nearby table.

He was _exactly_ like the pictures Howard had shown him. He hadn't changed a fraction, he only looked like he was sleeping except for the deep blue color of his skin and the frost clinging to every bit of him. His chest didn't rise, and the monitors showed the barest hint of a pulse that would've meant nothing if it weren't for the fact this was _the_ hero, the one who would always be able to bounce back with a little push…

That little strange something inside of him finally slipped from where it'd been perched precariously and shattered. He could feel himself ripping himself in two, with his own mind.

"Seriously Doc? Give me two minutes," He scoffed in the doctors face and flashing them all a confident smile.

He wondered if the smile reached his eyes, because his words definitely didn't reach his heart.

Without much feeling in his limbs he made a show of waltzing over to the computers and commandeering them from the young lab assistants, typing away as fast as he could while still looking casual. The quicker this was over the quicker he could just run and hide and pretend the world was sane again. Pretend _his_ world was still intact.

Within minutes of furious thought and typing that only served to distract him a little, he started barking orders at the lab rats, none too kindly. He soon had his creation in a syringe and waltzed back over to the frozen hero.

He hadn't moved. Of course he hadn't, he had been waiting and not moving for 70 years for Howard Stark to finally save him, and all he got was the half-ass replacement his son was.

_This_ was the man who he'd lost his childhood to. This was the man his father had compared him to at every turn. No matter the fact he was creating computers by age four, robots by age six, and the world's first artificial intelligence by age nine, he was still not good enough for Howard Stark. Tony had _turned into_ Howard Stark, though far more brilliant, and that only served to anger the older man in his drunken rages, produced by his frustrations with his hopeless search. Tony had been the spitting image of his father, when all Howard had wanted was someone like Captain America to look up to again. Instead, he found a disappointment to look _down_ to in his son.

This was the man his father had chosen over him, the man who Tony knew better than anyone else, against his will.

And oh, how he knew Steve Rodgers wasn't to blame. He knew damn well that no matter how much he _hated_ Howard Stark for doing this to him, for giving him something impossible to live up to, he knew it was not the Captain's fault. The one thing he had learned from his father better than any other lesson in science or robotics, was that Captain America was a hero, and that Tony was not.

Everyone in this room—hell, this _country—_loved this hero. It was obvious in their eyes the same way their annoyance and impatience with him was as obvious as if it were still his father's face looking back at him at every turn. A suit of iron was a cheap trick compared to the real hero, and everyone knew it. It made every fake word out of his mouth taste like bitter honey.

And just like that he was thirteen again, getting his ass handed to him by a drunk of a father because Howard Stark had just spent 10 months out searching and _again_ failed at bringing his long lost friend home. He was that small twerp who'd gone to college four years too early, that nerd everyone kicked as they passed, just like a rock on a sidewalk, simply because they could.

And so, that something inside him broke just a little more, grinding into dust, only it was ok this time. He already knew he wasn't worth much besides a fat check, and no one with the exception of possibly Pepper would ever care if he just faded away and left them all alone. Depressing as it sounded, he'd gotten used to that feeling a long time ago. These past months of being Iron Man made him forget, just for a little, that he wasn't truly worth a dime. This was just life reminding him that it was still painfully true.

So he might've felt like crying, but _Tony Stark_ doesn't hesitate, especially not when being watched. So he acted on autopilot, numb and blind.

After all, the world needed a real hero again.

He jabbed the syringe into the captain's chest, into his still human heart, not wired and mechanized like his own, and pushed down the release. After a few seconds he pulled it out and took a step back. He turned on his heel, making to leave, almost out the door and gone, but not before hearing the soft sound of someone inhaling slightly in the silent room, and the rapid beeping of a machine announcing a returning heart.


	2. The Heat of the Sun

There were many things you could say about Tony Stark, ranging from good and bad. Tony never cared, he was who he was and it was only the things that bothered _him_ that he ever gave a second thought to.

His stubbornness he often liked, it meant he got his way most of the time. Other times, it made Pepper's eyes flash in true irritation, and he wondered why he had to be this way.

And a couple times, he cursed out heaven and hell for his unyielding nature.

It wasn't _fair. _

It wasn't the first time he'd skated by death's clutches, missing only by a hair, but it was the first time he only had one reason not to just reach out and take the reaper by the hand in a firm handshake. They were old friends at this point, it wouldn't be too bad he figured.

There were those years he made it a point to crash every car he got before it reached its first birthday. He'd lost count of how many times he'd tried to drink himself to death and come pretty damn close to it. Those years had passed though, or lessened at the very least.

He was his worst before he was even legal, still in college and currently trying his damnedest to ignore his father. He drank, totaled cars, ripped up private property, done drugs, trespassed, vandalized, stolen things, got thrown in jail for a ridiculous amount of completely stupid things, drained his father's credit cards and tried _hard_ to destroy the Stark family name. It wasn't an accident he was the world's worst teenager, it was completely and one hundred percent on purpose.

But Howard and Maria Stark were ghosts, they never said a thing.

And then they died.

And perhaps he continued to act in his self-destructive way in the odd, slightly psychotic mindset that he could still catch their attention beyond the grave. When he realized how _stupid_ that was and how damaging those thoughts were to his sanity, he shut up and just built the damn weapons Obie wanted of him.

He still drank, he still crashed things. He tried to have fun, but with less 'intent to destroy' and more 'intent to forget'. He only ever managed to do half of both.

So there were those stupid times he almost greeted death like an old poker buddy.

There were the years when Howard Stark was still alive and still paid attention to him. He counted five times he was hospitalized in direct relation to Howard Stark's fists. He thought perhaps there were two more instances he _should've_ been hospitalized but wasn't for one reason or another. Perhaps his mother was too drunk to notice to call for help. There was only once out of those times that everyone assumed he _had_ died for about twenty minutes until some very clever doctor brought him back.

Being blown up by one of his own bombs was a new sort of near-death experience, and it sort of brought back an old nostalgia for alcohol poisoning, odd as that sounds. Self destruction back then was at least purposeful. And less explosive.

Having open-heart surgery while completely awake convinced him that karma was a stone cold bitch, and he must have earned himself a prime spot in hell for his first two and a half decades of life. If he'd been anything less than a man built on science, he'd say there was a god out there who hated his guts with an alarmingly unholy passion for a deity.

Being tortured by terrorists unraveled his once-brilliant mind into useless pieces of scrap metal that even he couldn't use. Death was less threatening there, because he knew they wanted him to live to endure so much more.

But there was something fundamentally horrible about being lost in a dessert, the blood of perhaps his first honest friend still caked in his hands. The screams of the men who'd ripped him apart echoing like ghosts in his ears.

He'd escaped, yes. It was far from graceful, he still free fell three hundred feet into hot sand in a giant iron suit _not_ meant for a cushy landing, his shoulder was still shattered and he was bleeding. But it felt like he'd been bleeding, burning, drowning for months now, so it didn't matter.

Never once had he ever considered giving up. It wasn't in his lexicon, and it never had been. No matter how self-destructive he got, he never just _gave up_. He may have taken the drugs, drank the alcohol, crashed the cars, he may have done it all but it was different somehow. Different from hanging himself from the ceiling or using the plethora of weapons his hands created to just end it.

He'd been tortured. Yes, despite the fact it had been his life for the past three months, the information was still slow to sink in. Not once did he ever consider giving in, giving them the weapons they wanted. He only told them yes when—in the odd revelation one got after being resuscitated from having been drowned—he had a clear thought and imagined up the suit. And still, that wasn't giving in, that was fighting.

He'd killed them all. Burned them, smashed them with iron hands, ripped the guns from their hands and used them to make sure they'd never hurt anyone ever again—especially not with _his_ creations. He made sure of it all.

And then Yinsen had died. The kind doctor who'd ripped into his heart and somehow re-started it for good, who was the first person in… his life really to show honest kindness towards him. And he'd died, bleeding out in his arms and a small smile saying that he was going to see his family now. Family, that Tony's own weapons had killed.

Never, in all the months they'd spent together, did the man ever show any animosity toward him, when perhaps he had more reason than anyone Tony had ever met to hate him. It was easy to realize, as he lay dying, that this was the man who should have been his father. The aging doctor did in three months what Howard Stark had failed to do in 17 years, and actually taught Tony something about living.

_Don't waste your life._

Yinsen's last words had been for _him._

Wandering in the desert, wondering if anyone was still looking for him, he realized it might be too late. He had wasted his life. It had been by design, but still. He'd never had anyone to disappoint before. No one ever cared enough to expect anything other than disappointment from him.

Why did that strange but kind old man even care? About _him?_ Of all people why _him?_ He was the worst sort of person, he knew that.

No one cared about him. Rhodey and Pepper put up with him, the only two in the world—including his parents—who ever had. They'd care if he died, but it wouldn't rip their world in two like it would if _he_ lost one of _them. _They were so much stronger than he was, they could live past that.

_Don't waste your life._

Never had Tony ever wanted to give up before. It wasn't who he was.

But oh, how he wanted to now. Yinsen was gone. It wasn't right. It should have been him.

_Don't waste your life._

His chest hurt, almost as if Yinsen's hands were still wiring hot copper wires into his dying heart. This arc reactor wasn't meant to live inside a human body, it wasn't meant to power a heart. And humans weren't supposed to run on batteries. They weren't supposed to survive this long so damaged, so broken both inside and out.

_Why_ did he have to be so stubborn!? Why couldn't he just _give up!?_

_Don't waste your life._

Oh yeah… that's why.


	3. The Music of Ghosts

Some days, Tony sat at the piano in his unused living room and picked mindlessly at the keys. Sometimes he found himself playing a song he'd thought he'd forgotten or perfecting a line that used to give him trouble.

He didn't tell people he could play, just like he didn't tell them who taught him either.

Because it wasn't Howard Stark, the man who taught him every science known to man, it was just a businessman at his father's company, Obadiah Stane.

He hated seeing the piano sitting here most days, but he couldn't bring himself to just leave it out of the designs next time he trashed the place and had to rebuild it. It wasn't the same piano he'd learned on, but it was still a baby grand with the same white and black keys and the same notes played if he were willing to play them.

It was like he was four years old again, barely able to get himself up onto the bench and look directly up at the giant of the man letting his thick fingers with shiny golden rings trail across the keys far too gracefully for someone so gruff most of the time. He could still hear the notes being played, and for the briefest moment he believed if he turned around Obie would be sitting there again, plucking away and rolling his eyes at whatever he'd come to talk to him about this time.

He was at the piano when Tony had come home from winning his first scientific award at the age of five. He was waiting for him at the piano when he got out of juvey the first time. And the second and the third and the several times thereafter. He was there after he crashed his first car, got into his first fight, after several horrible fights with his father, after he'd come home after having been told by his parents that under no circumstances would Tony ever do anything that _wasn't_ building weapons and Tony had run away to Italy for a month in protest.

Always he'd walk in and there was Obie, sitting at some damn piano with a box of pizza from Tony's favorite pizzeria in New York, no matter if they happened to be in Malibu, Berlin, or Tokyo. He'd be sitting there with a disappointed/amused shake of his head, playing away as he calmly reminded Tony in that deep voice of his that there was a plan, that Howard wasn't the devil, that he may have screwed up but he needed to focus now, blah, blah, blah.

Every time. It was like no matter how wild he got he could always come back to a room with Obie, a piano, pizza, and a lecture. And then everything would be alright again. Obie would talk to Howard, cool him off so he didn't beat his son to death for screwing up yet again, and talk Tony back into cooperating at least a little. He had no clue how the man did it, seeing as very few people on the earth could ever talk Tony into anything, but somehow Obadiah Stane was Tony's voice of reason long before he'd ever met Pepper and Rhodey.

In Tony's mind, Obie _was_ his father. The man who told him what was right, not just punished him for what was wrong. Howard was like this threatening force he had to answer to every time he screwed up, but Obie was who tried to talk him down from it, who tried to actually teach him. So maybe Obie was a businessman, not a scientist, Tony had tried hard to be more like him than Howard. It hurt more to let Obie down than to let Howard down.

And Obie had always wanted him to be a weapons inventor. Tony still remembered the day he built his first missile and Howard had showed him the war footage of it being used in action.

He'd only been six.

He didn't want to do it, even that young, but Howard would yell. Obie would smile and pat him on the head and say it was for the best. Obie made sure no footage ever reached him, he made sure his little inventor was perfectly protected in a little bubble of illusion, shielding him from the truth about what his weapons were actually doing, where they were going.

Tony was a genius, of course he knew. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Obie did this for him and he used to love Obie for it. He used to think it was because the man cared, because he knew building these weapons was _important_ and that he knew Tony didn't want to hear the god awful truth.

He was like Tony's protector. The man who deflected Howard, press, the SI board, critics, everything, so Tony could just live in his own screwed up little fantasy.

Tony couldn't remember a time he'd been truly, all-around happy and it hadn't involved being drunk. But, he did know he was happier when Obie was still the man he let Tony believe him to be, when he was still sitting at a piano and making every little trouble all better.

Tony was no stranger to hardship despite the fact he had every material need he could want. It wasn't a hardship of necessities, but an utter lack of something else, something vital. He lacked people who cared, he lacked love, and before there was Pepper and Rhodey, there was only ever Obie. And even then, Obie was like a strict uncle. But he was still the closest thing to a father and a true caregiver Tony had ever experienced, so perhaps he'd built it up in his head over time.

Everyone had always told him to build his weapons and shut up. Stop making a scene, just build your weapons and grow up. Stop acting destructively, just build that destruction in the form of bombs and a high tech arsenal.

Obie wanted the profit. Rhodey wanted the best tools for his brothers in uniforms. Pepper just did her job for Stark Industries.

Why had no one ever said he didn't have to build weapons? Why had no one ever given him the option to become a doctor or a physicist like Bruce? He would have loved to study the stars, to build rocket ships to take mankind off this planet. Hell, he figured he might have even loved to study biology and done some neat things for the environment.

But no, _weaponry _had to be his specialty.

Murder. Death. Destruction.

It came easy to him, but he wished it didn't. He wished he hadn't been raised like that, raised by voices in his ears telling him to be the Merchant of Death he grew up to be. Why had no one ever bothered to mention that it didn't have to be this way? Why had no one ever given a hint that becoming one of the world's most widely known mass murderers by the age of ten wasn't exactly a good thing? Why did they have to reward the death?

Why did _Obie?_

Why did Obie do any of it, is a better question. Why did Obie pretend to care, why did he decide Tony was no longer worth his time, why did he decide to kill him instead of just outing him from the company?

Even now, after so long, Tony can't reconcile the ghost of the man sitting at the piano with the terrorists who'd tortured him.

He couldn't.

Obie had been his protector, he _couldn't_ have tried to kill him. Even as Tony watched Obie take the arc reactor out of his chest, heard him admit to trying to have him kidnapped and killed by the Ten Rings, fought against him in the stolen Iron Monger suit… even with all that, Tony still sat at the piano sometimes.

He sat here, his calloused mechanics fingers dancing over the keys and remembering a man with large, gruff hands gently teaching him the scales. He heard the echo of his gruff voice scolding him kindly for some transgression, promising he'd take care of it.

Even knowing that man had been lying, using him, betraying him, even knowing that man had manipulated him into becoming the world's greatest war monger, even knowing he'd done nothing more than take what Tony had created to sell to the highest bidder and tried to terminate him when the profit slowed…

Tony missed him.

And he would delete Jarvis before he admitted it.

That man had betrayed him, tried to kill him in a way somehow worse than Howard nearly beating him to death. Tony should be furious, murderously angry at Obadiah Stane. He should hate the guy, he should be spitting on his grave and snarling his name in utter disgust and loathing.

But he didn't. He missed the man.

He was still gone, dead indirectly by Tony's hand—but then again, how many people were dead indirectly by his hands? Tony didn't know if he could handle ever facing Obie after his betrayal, but that did stop the surge of sorrow he felt, sitting at this piano.

He didn't want the lies or the manipulation. He didn't want the monster Obie had turned out to be. He didn't truly want him to return from the dead or to return back to sitting here playing the keys with pizza waiting nearby.

He just missed him, and that was all.

It was childish and he knew Pepper would insist he get his head checked if he ever told her, but he couldn't change it. He could never forgive Obie for turning him into a weaponist, a murder, for taking his childhood like he'd always blamed Howard for doing. He could never forgive him for putting him through the torture of the Ten Rings and the arc reactor. He could never forgive him for the broken trust—the shattered trust he couldn't bring himself to give to anyone ever again.

He would never forgive Obadiah.

But that didn't stop him from sitting at the piano some days.

It didn't stop him from missing a dream.


	4. The Fire of the Stars

Tony enjoyed the stars, he always had.

It was one of the reasons he called Malibu home over New York and the other cities he'd built houses in. There was just something about standing on a balcony overlooking the dark sea at night, endless stars stretching out towards the horizon. It was one of his favorite views in this world, and it only got better once he'd developed his suit. He couldn't recall having so much fun in his life, testing out the power of flight those first few days, spinning semi-uncontrollably against the velvet night and tiny little stars flickering so far above.

It was that drive, that urge, to get closer to them that drove him to test how high he could fly. It was what taught him his suit tended to build up a serious ice-layer way up there and he'd later used that information against Obadiah in his crude Iron Monger suit, so in a round-about way, the stars had saved his life.

There was nothing like flying: no thrill, no drug, no vice so enticing to him as being able to get just that much closer to the stars, to feel that free. It sparked something in his brain and his heart, it gave him odd moments of true clarity, it gave him breaks of character. He found forgiveness from old grudges, mercy from those who'd pissed him off, escape from nightmares and ghosts, and some days it even gave him a reason to live again.

He got to see the stars up close, just once.

When he'd tracked down that nuke headed for Manhattan, he didn't actually think very hard about getting beneath it. The numbers all added up to the most logical answer available, and Tony was nothing if not addicted to his mistress of science.

Tony had killed a lot of people in his life, with his weapons. This weapon, this _nuclear bomb_, had partly been developed by his father and the missiles propelling it were probably in some way his design too. If it reached its destination…

Well, it _couldn't_ reach its destination.

It wasn't an option.

And the life of Anthony Stark was nothing compare to that. Hell, it might even be penance, if he believed in such a thing. Death was no stranger to him, although the unknown was (obviously).

The unknown scared him. That portal scared him.

But the unexpected bonus of slowly having the air ripped out of his lungs and the light in his chest go glacial, was that he got to see the stars.

It was beautiful, in a horribly terrifying way.

He'd tried to call Pepper, but she didn't pick up. And then he was in space and she was gone, Jarvis was gone, the suit was gone, and is was just… dark. And cold.

For a few moments, he wondered if it was the vacuum or the loneliness that was crushing him, but then the nuke hit home and he forgot all about being afraid and alone and cold and in pain.

An alien star burned deep red behind a thousand million small black silhouettes, all tiny little ships of Chitauri ready to invade his home, reduced to dark specks from their distance. But the main attraction was the mother ship, and it was on fire.

Not many people on earth could say they'd seen a nuclear bomb go off in space, but Tony would be the first to say it was breathtaking, and terrifying. The stars, the fire, the suffocating feeling of being so, so _small_ and… well, the suffocating in general.

He was thankful it all went black right before the fire reached him.

He was thankful he got to see the stars.


	5. The Pattern of Raindrops

It was May, and it was pouring.

It also happened to be Tony's ninth birthday, but by the state of things in the Stark mansion you'd never know. He was sitting on the cushioned bay window seat of one of the many rooms on the fourth floor of this place he grew up in. He had refused to call it home since he was five.

Heaven only knew what this room was for. It had a bunch of books and a couple couches and a large Persian rug that warmed the cold room pretty well. It was chilly today with the rain, and the thunder outside was oddly mesmerizing as he watched the water droplets fall in buckets on the thick maze of neatly trimmed hedges outside. The giant stone wall blocking them from the rest of the city couldn't hide the skyscrapers rising all around them, and it was like he was stuck here with all the world not a hundred feet away.

Tall grey buildings stretched up into the cloudy sky, and the rain poured down. And they were so close, but so far.

He spun around when there came a thud at the door behind him. But then, he saw Maria Stark looking as confused as he was as to why she was standing in this random room in this large mansion. Tony wondered if she'd ever been in this wing before.

"Anthony." She said, her tone crisp and clear and questioning as she noticed her son. She moved gracefully, but her legs seemed to shake as she strode across the Persian carpet.

"Mother," He said, closing the forgotten laptop on the seat beside him. His random code building had taken form in a new idea of his, but he'd lost interest for it as he'd watched the rain. Someday though, he promised he'd finish the AI he saw in his dreams.

"Anthony," She repeated, getting distracted as her eyes flickered at the window. Tony got the feeling that her pale blue eyes hadn't actually seen it though. She hummed, eyes glancing curiously about the room. "How was school darling?"

His private school had ended two weeks ago.

"Fine, mother."

She nodded, walking shakily over towards a bookshelf. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

He glanced at the pouring rain.

"Yes mother." He picked at a stray thread of the seat cushion rather than look at her. "It's my birthday as well."

"Yes, yes," She nodded, running her hand over the books. "Darling, have you seen your father?"

Tony swallowed hard.

"He's been in Japan since April, mother." He reminded her softly.

She paused, turning and looking at the door as if someone had called her name. "He's in his workshop, isn't he? Oh that man." She sighed distractedly. She turned to look at her son curiously. "Have you still been inventing things?"

"…yes mother."

"Good boy. Yes, yes," She took the three steps forward and cupped his cheek in her palm, but she was too distracted by the window beyond him to meet her son's gaze. "Oh dear, it's raining?"

Tony took a deep breath.

"Not for long, mother."

She hummed and turned towards the door. "Darling, have you seen Jarvis? I would like to visit the sea this weekend."

Tony didn't answer, and she left without waiting for a reply.

The old butler had died two years ago.

Tony turned and picked up his laptop again, pretending that the code had at last come to life, and it was only the raindrops making wet patterns across his keyboard.


	6. The Rumble of Wrecking Balls

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"I thought you said I don't play well with others," Tony pointed out, spinning on his desk chair and frowning at Agent Coulson's disembodied voice.

"We don't need you to play well with him, we need you to annoy him into going away." The agent's blank voice said simply.

"Who is he to you anyway? _I _know him as a royal jackass—and not in the awesome way I am." The inventor mused, flipping through an array of videos and files littered about around him in his holograms.

Most portrayed a giant green rage monster tearing up the city.

"I know you already know, you saw the Avengers Initiative paperwork and I think we can count on the fact you hacked what we left out." Coulson responded, unfazed, and Tony shrugged like he had a point there, even if the Agent couldn't see him. "You're very well known in all aspects of the military, you have more sway with them and the public than Ross does."

Tony frowned. "I don't make weapons anymore—for them or you." He said shortly.

"Doesn't matter, the sheer fact you used to and they all want you to again is why we need you."

"No, you need my people skills," Tony snorted. Then, something caught in the corner of his eye. "What is this I see about a sonic cannon?" He frowned heavily, sitting up suddenly and pulling a hologram towards him. It showed a large gun atop a truck shooting heavy blasts of sound waves at the Hulk, who obviously didn't like the annoyance. The last time he'd seen that tech… well, Obadiah had been using it to rip the generator out of his chest.

There was a pause on the line that Tony instantly did not like.

"The hunt for Banner began before Afghanistan, Stark. Ross specialized in your tech in trying to bring him down. Stane and he were close business associates." He relayed in a clipped tone.

Tony seemed to freeze solid, blue eyes scanning the news feeds once more.

"I'm in."

0000000000000

Tony didn't like the military beyond Rhodey. His old friend at least had a heart of gold and was doing the right things, but Tony couldn't say the same for everyone working in uniform. It didn't mean those people didn't exist, but Tony didn't particularly care to trust people unless Rhodey or Pepper said he had to play nice.

General Ross had always been sweet as sugar to him, but Tony saw right through it. The guy was a lying, two-faced, son of a bitch that had only ever wanted his weapons, and before Tony had his heart jump-started in the middle of a desert, he honestly just didn't care. Weapons were weapons and Tony had too much of them, so the grand total of f*cks he gave about who got them amounted to around _zero. _

Then things changed. Violently.

Now he cared, and his general distaste of Ross had surged into something like hatred. He'd always respected Dr. Banner, as he tended to at least be interested in people with intelligence levels on par with his own, but he'd never truly crossed paths with the man. They were always so different—the conventions Tony ended up attending usually involved an open bar whereas Dr. Banner was a bit more refined than that, so despite Tony having read everything the good doctor had written in his research, he'd never had any true impact on his life.

The same year Bruce Banner had gained an alternate personality of the Hulk, also happened to be the year Howard and Maria Stark died. Under normal circumstances, Tony would've been _all over_ the incredibly fascinating development of a creature like the Hulk, but as it was, he had been rather preoccupied with trying to drink himself into oblivion. Combined with the fact that he'd quickly figured out that the gamma incident was indirectly related into research for the super-soldier serum, he'd immediately tuned it all out, refusing to go anywhere near it even when the Hulk was taking some frustration out on Brooklyn.

At seventeen years old and dealing with… whatever it was he had been thinking when his parents had passed, he'd poured himself into his work.

SI asking for nuclear bombs? Done.

Air Force asking for new high tech stealth jets? Done.

Army asking for Jericho missiles? Done.

Obie asked for Hulk-specified weapons? Done.

He hadn't cared to think, he'd only built and drank and tried to just not exist at all half the time, and trying to be as destructive as possible the other half. After Afghanistan, that was when it stopped. No more weapons.

But that sonic cannon of the video feed from a couple weeks ago, it may have been older tech but it was definitely his. He couldn't think of another company out there who dealt in sonic weapons, much less a company the US Army was dealing with. Because of some legal things that Pepper had twisted his arm on, the Army had gotten to keep a lot of SI's old weapons in exchange for Tony going cold-turkey on them, and he was cursing under his breath as he realized a lot of those old weapons had been Hulk-specific.

NOW he realized why they wanted those weapons, even though neurosonic weaponry had been outlawed by the government six years ago, and by the UN not long after that. Stupid freaking _Ross_ and his ass-hole tendencies.

Tony had to bite down what felt like golf-ball sized pepper as he realized he'd been doing it again. Acting like some idiot kid who just built what Obie told him to and ignoring all real-life consequences. He'd been sulking, holding a small little grudge against Banner for attempting to recreate the serum (blasted thing) and ignoring the fact that the Doc might've moved on from that research in light of recent events.

He realized he was just as much of an ass as Ross was, for holding a small grudge against Banner whilst the poor fool had some _not so little_ issues going on.

Not that he knew how to un-do the Hulk, but he sure hadn't been helping with any of the global-manhunt or property damage going on. He'd been locked up in his own personal bubble, when this entire mess was (in a round-about way) slightly his fault. His fault because while he wasn't spilling what he knew of the serum, he sure hadn't stopped others from attempting it, though maybe he could've—even _should've_.

And then the Hulk happened.

He _really freaking cared_ about this now, more than just the stab of guilt in his gut every time he thought about it, though he didn't quite understand why.

Maybe it was the fact that, when not some giant green creature, Bruce Banner was a kind and humble doctor, and it came a little too close to home for Tony, who knew of another good doctor who hadn't had much of a second chance on life.

This Blonksy character seemed rather unsavory, and it fit all too well into what Tony knew of Ross to discover that the general wanted Blonksy in his pocket and Banner in a cage. He was smug beyond belief that Banner had gotten free, and satisfied that Blonksy was now in a very secure cage at Shield HQ.

Coulson had called with an interesting dilemma: the World Security Council had ordered Fury to give Blonksy to Ross, but Fury (and for once he and Tony were on the exact same page) wasn't about to let that happen. The WSC had also ordered Fury to bring Banner in, and (to silent applause from Tony) old one-eye had effectively told them to kiss his ass. Didn't mean they weren't keeping tabs on him, but hey, that's what Shield was so annoyingly infamous for. Tony knew they were keeping tabs on _him_ too, as much as he detested it.

But now came the dilemma: how to get Ross to forget about Blonksy. Without him, Ross wasn't about redeem any sort of his career after the mess he made in Harlem, _and_ he would then have nothing that held a match to the Hulk's strength. Tony was essentially single-handedly funding the repairs to the city and very publically blaming the general for it, _and_ Iron Man was going to take a visit to the Army's weapons bank to remove any StarkTech he deemed Ross too _stupid_ to be responsible with. Legal implications be damned.

Banner was going to remain hidden if Tony had to pay off all of India to turn a blind eye to him, and Ross was going to quit it or face public humiliation for the next thirty years.

But first, Blonksy had to be out of the game.

Tracking him wasn't hard, considering he was probably wallowing in his defeat, and Tony wrinkled his nose at the grimy little bar the general had holed himself up in. He shoved open the doors and straightened himself up, taking in the bar with distain before spotting his target at the stools. He walked in casually, and no one paid him a second glance save for two women in the corner who were sly enough to realize the business suit he was wearing cost more than this entire run-down dump of a bar.

"Hmm… the smell of stale beer, and defeat. You know, I hate to say I told you so general, but that super soldier program was put on ice for a reason. I've always felt that hardware is much more reliable." He began without preamble, coming up behind Ross, who turned slighting with obvious annoyance on his face. The man's "friendly" exterior had vanished when Tony had called him a plethora of colorful names in response to a request to help the Army work on duplicating the super-solider serum for Blonksy, and now there was a definite chill between them.

"Stark." He greet shortly, taking another sip from his glass as Tony leaned up against the bar beside him.

"General." He nodded back shortly.

Ross narrowed his eyes a bit, gesturing to the billionaire before him. "You always wear such nice _suits_." His movement suggested the expensive get-up he had on now, but his harsh eyes suggested differently.

Tony didn't let his rising hackles show.

"Touche." He allowed, leaning back some on the bar. "I hear you have an unusual problem."

"You should talk." Ross grunted, and Tony ignored it. He was here for a reason.

"You should listen."

The next fifteen minutes were a blur to him, but he could bring to mind several things he suspected Pepper might slap him for saying if she ever found out. Being asked to leave a bar for being too loud wasn't a new experience, but he needed to finish the conversation he was having so he wrote the owner/bar keep a check and just bought the place.

Upon discovering that Ross was a regular here, he made a mental note to knock it down and build something obnoxious here, like another Starbucks or something.

Ross almost decked him twice (seriously, what about him makes people think lifting him by his neck is the best way to deal with him? Do they think it will make him stop talking, because they are horribly mistaken), and by the time the hour was out Tony waltzed away feeling quite accomplished despite his now-wrinkled suit. He also didn't have to worry about Ross ever pretending to be nice to him again, because he was fairly certain the general was going to hate him till his dying day (and the feeling was mutual).

In other words, he felt quite satisfied, knowing Dr. Banner at least had another couple years without this particular madman going after him.

It didn't begin to cover the sins he's already committed against the good doctor, nor the ones he continued to commit by hiding the secret of the serum away, but he figured it was a reasonable place to start.

And now Coulson owed him a favor, which was a definite plus.


	7. The Words of a Friend

"_Do you not think, sir, that people will notice if you are talking to yourself?"_

"Please, Mother does it all the time. And what people? When's the last time Howard let me leave this hell hole?" Tony snarked right back as he slipped the small metal disk into his ear. It was like a Bluetooth, but smaller and less noticeable. "There, what do you think?" He asked, turning the webcam on his computer to look at him.

"_Not noticeable at all, sir." _

Tony narrowed his eyes at the camera lens.

"_And that was not sarcasm." _Jarvis amended dutifully.

He huffed. "Hell if I know how you got sarcasm at all." He muttered to himself as he pushed the camera back into place and went back to typing away at the new additions to Jarvis' code he was working. The core of it he'd started when he was eight, and now, four years later, he was having difficulty figuring out just what the hell he'd meant by half of it. His skills were infinitely better now, but the little flaws that made Jarvis the AI he was were rather creative stumbles of eight-year-old fingers. He could pick them out as he scanned through the code, and each one made him laugh a little.

Some would say it looked like Swiss cheese with all the glaring errors. However, the code worked and Jarvis existed, flaws and all (he would say it was miraculous that it functioned at all, if he believed that sort of thing). The flaws gave the AI things like sarcasm, and a virus-like ability to jump from computer to computer and hack into wifi at will.

And oh, how he had a will of his own. If he wasn't programmed to protect and aid his creator, Tony was 100% sure the two of them would never stop fighting long enough to get anything done.

Tony knew the flaws in Jarvis' code like he knew the periodic table (i.e, memorized since he was two) and he treasured them. If Jarvis caught a virus and died, Tony was absolutely sure he could recreate his core down to the last ones and zeros, and rebuild from there.

Now, he worked on making the AI bigger, more powerful. The earpieces were just the last of his inventions—ensuring that he could hear Jarvis, but his father couldn't. He wasn't sure why, but he had this vague feeling of dread when he thought about Howard meeting Jarvis. Over the years, Howard had looked less and less bored with the things Tony built and more and more angry.

It was actually Jarvis (since Tony had given him access to the public library's entire online database, including a whole bunch of psychology journals) who suggested that the elder Stark felt threatened. The fact his son was quickly overtaking him in not only skill, but also in creativity, surely did not sit well with a man who had little else in life but wealth and brains. Of course he had a family, but Tony knew very well by now that, to Howard, his wife and son meant about as much as one of those shiny cars in his garage downstairs. Breakable, and replaceable.

The world's first AI was something that Tony knew Howard had tried and failed to succeed in creating. Of course a lot of his inventions had some sort of intelligence, but not one of them had the things Jarvis did, like creativity, emotion, personal will, empathy, preferences, problem-solving skills, and rational thought that could be marred by onslaught of feelings, like when he first "woke up" three years ago and was rendered just as speechless as Tony was for creator and invention to _meet_ each other.

And the sarcasm, don't forget the bloody sarcasm. The sass level was unbelievable, actually. Tony had to scramble just to keep up, and he quickly found himself learning a level of confidence in himself with this new friend by his side. Exhibit A being the fact he was hiding something from his father—a brand new and simultaneously terrifying concept.

He just… was afraid that Howard might hurt Jarvis. Jarvis was supposedly incorporeal, but he _could_ feel pain if someone got into his code and pressed the wrong buttons, and Howard was _really_ smart. Add determined and insulted (and jealous maybe?) into the equation and Tony was afraid. For himself _and_ his best friend.

Better to just let Howard believe he'd inherited his mother's insanity should he ever be caught talking to the AI then ever let the two meet.

It hadn't been a problem for the past 3 years since the AI's "birth" because Jarvis had only had a voice for the past two and had been relatively shy and new for the couple months after that, just like a toddler. Then he'd gotten his hooks into the internet and absorbed everything he could and he began to talk and do more, which wasn't that threatening because Howard was rarely ever home to risk witnessing it.

After Howard had finished teaching Tony himself, he'd left everything else to private schools and tutors and took off, always away from 'home' doing something SI or Captain America related. He hadn't actually been home in the past 10 months, and in that time Tony and Jarvis had finally figured each other out. Now Tony knew what the AI would say before he said it and Jarvis could do the same for him. The novelty of an AI had worn off, but the novelty of a friend was as new as it ever was, and Tony sometimes found himself talking to his new companion without regards to any of the housekeepers or his mother noticing (not that she was around much either).

Jarvis was at least smart enough to know when to be quiet by cue words from Tony, but this whole "sight" thing with the cameras was still an in-progress project (he only vaguely understood human facial expressions as of yet), so he didn't actually _know_ when someone was around to hear him, or at least, wasn't practiced in figuring it out.

It was more important that he and Jarvis figure out how to communicate silently today more than ever because he'd overheard his mother talking on the phone that morning—and she only ever talked on the phone when it was Howard calling, saying he'd be home soon. It could be tonight, tomorrow, next week…

Dummy rolled over to where he sat typing away on is stool and nudged his leg. He glanced over at it curiously as it beeped softly.

"_The microphone on Dummy has just picked up your father's voice somewhere in the house." _Jarvis translated for him, and Tony's heart stopped.

"Dum-E" was just a little prototype AI, more like a dog personality-wise than anything else at this point. Howard demand he have a project for the coming SI global fair to exhibit and not "embarrass him" by showing up empty handed, but it was a delicate battle to traverse. He couldn't show up with Jarvis, that was for sure, because Howard would… he wasn't sure what, but he didn't want to find out. (Plus, Jay wasn't anywhere near finished, so neither of them were ready for the attention the scientific community would give them for this kind of breakthrough). However, he had to show up with _something_ worth Howard's time or he'd get his ass handed to him for being a "lazy embarrassment".

(Funnily enough, getting locked up in Juvey wasn't embarrassing, but coming in second at Howard's own industrial-sized science fair was. Imagine that.)

Instead of revealing Jarvis, he'd decided on creating Dummy. He was a simpler creation, but no less brilliant. And if Howard _did_ do something… Jarvis would protect the smaller AI. Dummy's code was actually inside Jarvis himself, and the version downloaded into the physical robot rolling around the floor of his lab was just a backup. If Howard went after the smaller bot, Jarvis could just disconnect Dummy's connection of "soul to body" as Tony put it, and no amount of dismantling would do Dummy any harm. Tony had the different plans for Dummy's possible bodies memorized, so he could just rebuild and reinsert a copy of his personality back in with Jarvis' help.

The SI convention wasn't until next spring, so Dummy wasn't nearly done just yet, but Tony rather liked having him around and active, even when he wasn't working on him. He only came up to his knee at the moment, but he'd expressed certain interest in being mobile (even if he just went in circles), so Tony had hooked him up to two little wheels that scooted him around the workshop to his little bionic-heart's satisfaction.

There was a microphone physically on him since he was supposed to follow orders and it was often hard to relay orders through the microphone on his computers that then translated wirelessly (not even taking into account that it was twice as easy to hack that way). The mic on the little bot was _supposed_ to relay the commands directly into Dummy's code, but Tony hadn't quite decided if it was the mic that was messed up or Dummy just liked ignoring him. In an attempt to rule out the first possible problem, he'd built his own microphone that could hear a pin-drop from anywhere in a block radius of the bot it was hooked to.

He'd then decided that Dummy just liked to ignore him.

This was an unforeseen bonus though—Dummy telling him his father was home. Although… he'd been _sure_ that Dummy hadn't been "alive" yet the last time Howard was home so to know what his voice sounded like, not to mention why on earth he felt like informing his creator about that and not about the fire that had almost took out half his lab two days ago.

Then again, Jarvis probably had something to do with it, being the younger AI's "keeper" of sorts. Jarvis' main "priority" was to keep his creator safe and to aid him, but Tony had only just gotten around to actually defining what he needed to be protected _from. _He then realized he forgot to mention what Jarvis and Dummy had to be protected from themselves, since self-preservation was a skill he often forgot and had therefore delayed in instilling in his bots. The fire thing was his bad, he forgot to mention to Dummy what fire looked like to avoid it and Jarvis' camera had been pointing the wrong way, but that is neither here nor there.

What was interesting though, was that he'd never flat out mentioned to either bot that Howard might be a problem. How they'd known…

A thought suddenly occurred to him and he quickly switch the web cam that was Jarvis' "eye" off.

"_Sir?"_

"It's nothing Jay," He said hastily.

"_Sir is lying, and the gesture is unappreciated." _The AI's dry tone informed him briskly.

Tony bit his lip. "Jarvis… I'm going to ask you to do an intuitive leap for me buddy. Think you're up for it?"

"_I have made several in the past week without much effort. What would sir like me to try?" _

Tony took a breath. "You know how… you're protecting me? That list of things I gave you as definite danger?"

"_Yes, sir."_

"And also remember, how I explained that I'm going to ask you to do a lot of things that probably go against that directive?"

There was a long silence from the AI that had Tony's nerves amping up.

"_I will not like this new directive, will I sir?"_

"Probably not." Tony admitted, bitterness seeping into his tone. "But… just listen. My father is not a danger. Do not take any direct actions against him. You are to keep your existence hidden from him at all costs, for both yours and my safety, got it Jarvis?"

Again, there was a long pause.

"_Hospital records indicate that your father __**is**__ a threat to you sir. If I may respectfully disagree with that directive…"_

Tony's heart rammed through his throat so hard he actually choked aloud.

"_WHAT_ hospital records!?" He squeaked in alarm. No, forget that, he knew _exactly_ what hospital records, and he also knew they were under lock and key thanks to a sizable check from Howard. "No, never mind that, did you HACK into the hospital's database to find that?! How did you even— the information—!?"

"_If sir is asking how I knew to look there, may I answer and say that I made an intuitive leap."_

Tony's jaw dropped.

"You son of a bitch," He muttered darkly, sitting bolt straight in his seat. "Who even taught you to hack?" He demanded indignantly. He knew for a _fact_ there wasn't a book on hacking in the library's database—he'd searched for one when he was younger.

"_I learned from observing my creator, __**sir."**_

Tony almost turned the camera back on so his AI could see how hard he was glaring, although there was only a 40% chance at the moment that Jay would correctly interpret the expression. As it was, he settled for groaning and covering his face with his hands.

"I am _such_ a bad influence." He moaned dejectedly. "_Do not_, under _any_ circumstance, teach Dummy how to hack," he said quickly.

"_Yes sir."_ Jarvis replied, but Tony had the distinct feeling that if he had actual eyes to be rolling, he was definitely be rolling them right now. His monotone still somehow implied a '_how stupid do you think I am?'_ sort of vibe to it.

Tony bit back the snarky reply to the sass and took a breath to steady himself. Jarvis just kept proving to be a bit more complex the more he grew. Making the decision to hack without consent was… well, it was freaking awesome, but also really alarming. Thank whatever scientific god was listening in he was on _his_ side.

"The _point_ is that I turned off your camera for a reason. If Howard comes in-" As he usually did upon returning home (cue internal grimace) "- I don't want you getting any ideas. Howard is…" He trailed off.

"_Your father."_ Jarvis finished for him.

"My father." Tony repeated distractedly, perhaps in agreement even. That was all Howard was anymore, he supposed. "Your directives still stand… just, not against Howard."

Dummy bumped into his leg again a couple more times, his beeping sounding almost… sad? Was that possible?

"_Yes sir."_ Jarvis replied after a barely noticeable hesitation.

But Tony noticed.

000

It was only later that night that Tony came back from the first "family dinner" his family had had since he was ten, sporting a black eye and a stinging pride. He'd forgotten for a while, what it was like to be so… so _small_. He always felt so competent, surrounded by his own creations, Jarvis picking on him in that weird was to booster his spirits…

_Jarvis-!_

"You still there, bud?" Tony whispered quickly, forgetting to drag his feet as he all but jogged across his workshop to those precious computers that held his best friend. He flicked them all back to life, and Jarvis' code was running full-steam, growing rapidly as always as he grew and grew. "Jarvis?" He repeated, slightly more hesitantly when the AI didn't respond.

Dummy came skittering across the tile floor from his charging station and collided gently with his creator's heel, and Tony looked down and smiled at the little bot briefly before picking at the key board, a motion that would be comparatively like poking Jarvis.

"_Sir."_ The AI greeted shortly, and Tony slowly sat up in surprise.

"Jarvis, were you giving me the _silent treatment?"_

"_I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir." _

"You're literally Artificial Intelligence Jar, don't play dumb." Tony snorted, picking back up where he left off in working on Jarvis' facial recognition software. The AI didn't respond with his normal banter, and Tony was instantly suspicious again. "You're doing it again." He said suspiciously.

"_Doing what, sir?"_

Tony abandoned the program and flicked on the web cam to glare at the AI properly. "See this Jay? This is a _glare_, and it means _don't play dumb you overgrown calculator!"_ He said pointedly.

"_I am aware, since your last software update." _

Tony pressed his lips together, trying to figure out what had happened to make Jarvis so grumpy.

"_And that expression means you have a build-up of gas, correct sir?"_

"Ah!" Tony exclaimed, pretending (though it wasn't hard) to be insulted dramatically. "_What_ did you say?!"

"_My apologies sir, was my phrasing offensive?" _

And then it clicked, and Tony blinked a bit in shock, the playfulness in his chest growing suddenly cold. "This is about my new directives against Howard, isn't it?" He realized.

Jarvis didn't answer.

Dummy beeped, low and sad.

"_I heard the entire dinner from Dummy's microphone." _Jarvis related after a long moment.

Tony leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. That was why he turned off the camera, and yet… it hadn't done any good. Jarvis still knew now, and he'd found out the hard way. As if Tony would've ever had the guts to just tell him outright.

Yes, his eye stung a bit and he was sure as hell going to have bruises on his right arm tomorrow, but it was actually not that bad, comparatively. Howard had a pattern… it would take a couple days upon his return to really get into it. And by 'it', he meant 'scotch'.

As the years went on, he'd actually been doing it gradually less. It was as if the bigger Tony got, the less of an easy target he was, which was half of the reason it vexed him to be so short and small like his mother. If he could just be as tall as Howard already, maybe the elder Stark wouldn't feel like he _should_ just because he _could. _

He would tell Jarvis that he didn't need to worry, just like he told everyone else on the planet, except… well, wasn't that why he'd had the idea of creating Jarvis in the first place? That one, horrible day so long ago when he'd nearly bled out on the front hall's carpet with his chest caved in and his mother had walked right by, not even realizing something was wrong.

He couldn't breathe, he'd nearly drowned in blood…

And then Jarvis had come—not the computer, but the old butler. He called for help, Tony lived… and then Jarvis had died. He'd been very old, even when Tony was just an infant. They'd never really crossed paths before that day, he was just the man who answered the door and drove his mother places while Tony was stuck inside the depth of the mansion, and yet…

And yet Tony had lived, and Jarvis had died, and he'd lived in fear ever since that it was going to happen again and Tony would be without a Jarvis to save him and…

And he was twelve. Forgive him, for not truly wanted to die so young. If he needed to build someone who was call 911 if he were dying, then hell be damned, he was smart enough to do just that.

What was unexpected was to think of Jarvis as a _friend _now. A friend with the primary purpose to protect him, but… somewhere in the past four years, Tony had forgotten why he'd started this. What he'd found along the way was just so much better, but…

He didn't want to die. He wanted someone to care. He knew Jarvis already did, judging by the silent treatment, but…

"Do you know why I created you in the first place, Jar?" He finally broke the silence with a soft voice.

"_You never did tell me, sir." _

Tony clenched his jaw and forced himself to swallow the brick in his throat.

"I should tell you now."

"_Can I make an intuitive leap that it has something to do with Howard Stark?" _

At that, Tony couldn't help but smile. It was the first time Jay had referenced Howard by his name, rather than addressing him as "your father" as he usually did. It seemed the two of them were finally on the same page with that.

"You would be correct, as usual." Tony admitted, his smile slipping away just as fast as it came. "And as usual… you're really not going to like what I have to say. Or what I'm going to tell you to do about it."

"_Meaning nothing, sir. Sir is going to ask me to do nothing." _

Tony sighed. "Jay-"

"_No sir."_

His eyebrows rocketed up. "_What_ was that?"

"_No, sir, it goes against my primary directive to do nothing. My response to your request is 'no, sir'."_

"Jarvis-"

"_No, sir."_

"This is not up for a _debate,_ Jay!" The computers fell silent, and Tony stared as the screens stilled. "Oh, now you're just going to _ignore me?"_ No answer. "Fine!" He stood and made to angrily walk away, except he forgot Dummy was by his ankles and quickly spinning in circles in agitation at his "parents" fighting.

He let out a startled little yell as he tripped over the tiny bot, falling flat on his face and wincing as he using his bruised wrist to catch his fall. He groaned, realizing that exit was far less dramatic than he'd meant it to be.

"_Sir?"_

"I'm not dead," Tony mumbled against the floor, losing all will to get up in light of recent events. Since he was out of Jay's camera view, he gave a verbal confirmation to the worried AI instead. Dummy came up and bumped into his shoulder a couple of times, beeping happily that his creator was down on his level. "Hello, Dummy." He sighed tiredly as the bot kept running into him as if it were the most entertaining game in the world.

"_Sir."_

"I know Jarvis. I know." Tony sighed, just laying there and wondering about this entire mess.

Despite the sinking feeling that creating these personalities was only going to hurt them in the end, he had to admit, it was nice knowing someone was listening.


	8. The Red of Christmas

He knelt by the Christmas tree, looking up at the ten foot monster of a plant above him. It was perfectly decorated with baubles of red and gold tassels, evenly spaced lights and a gleaming star on top. The maid who had done it even let him put an ornament or two on some of the lower branches since he couldn't very well reach the higher ones. Howard said he was too small for his age. The maids said he was cute like that, but he had a feeling he shouldn't tell Howard what the maids say, since he didn't like his son talking to anyone who wasn't his parents anyway.

This Christmas would be different than last, he decided. He had only been two last year, be barely remembered it except that Howard had only come home for dinner that night and Tony hadn't thought to get him a present. No one had explained what Christmas was, but now he knew and this year would be better.

It would be better because he'd finally finished his first computer. Howard hadn't been very impressed with his circuit boards or his drawings on weapons he thought his father should make at his work lab, but a computer was different—it was more whole and it was rather pretty, if he said so himself. He'd even painted the hard drive red, like Christmas.

But Christmas was still a full thirty seven hours away, and Howard was not happy today, and Tony had to wait to show him the computer until it was time. So instead, he knelt by the Christmas tree and listened to his father yelling with someone in his office down the hall. He didn't like it when his father yelled, because it usually meant that whenever whoever he was mad at left, he would just yell at Tony.

Tony had figured out that the yelling wasn't directed _at him_ but at someone else. But that someone else wasn't there, and Tony was, so it was ok. At least it made sense, and Tony was really good and not listening to someone even when they were talking to him. He'd practiced, and now he could barely remember what his father usually yelled at him about. Which was good, because it usually wasn't nice.

"…Anthony?"

He jumped a little, not having realized the yelling had stopped. He'd been too wrapped up, looking at the Christmas tree. He scrambled to his feet and stood stiffly in attendance when he spotted a woman in the doorway, looking at him with a slightly confused, yet warm smile on her lips.

He liked her. She looked nice and not the yelling sort. She had bright red lips too, and a fancy red hat on her curled brown hair, and anyone who liked red was ok in his book.

"Hello," He said lowly, being polite like Howard told him to.

She smiled, and he instantly liked her more. Most people smiled like they wanted him to go away, or like they wanted him to do something. Her smile was… just a smile. And it was friendly and he liked that a lot. There were never a lot of friendly people around—never enough at least.

"My name's Peggy, I'm a friend of your father's." She said, coming into the room slowly and looking up at the Christmas tree in something like admiration. "What a beautiful tree." She commented lightly.

Tony shifted on his feet, not knowing what to say. Howard said he shouldn't talk to his friends. But… Howard wasn't exactly _here_ so…

"I got to put that one on." He blurted out, pointing to the ornament of his doing. She lifted one eyebrow.

"It's a very red tree. Red and gold are the perfect Christmas tree colors, don't you think?" She mused, sinking to her knees beside where Tony had been sitting a minute ago. Even then, she was still taller than him.

"Red's the best." He said matter-of-factly, and she gave him a bright smile.

"Then you and I are on the same page." She agreed seriously, and he decided he really liked her.

He nodded enthusiastically. "I even painted my computer red." He announced. He'd never really had anyone to tell about the stuff he'd built before, and now he did. Maybe she'd keep the secret with him until Christmas.

"Your computer?" She said curiously. "You like computers, just like your father don't you?"

"Yes," He said proudly. "But I built this one all by myself. I'm going to give it to my dad." He said, kneeling again as he reached under the tree and pull out the only present under it. It wasn't wrapped very well, but it was wrapped in red predictably, with a gold plastic ribbon on top to match the tree. He'd thought himself quite clever for that. "I think he'll like it." He decided, and he glanced up to see Peggy looking very startled.

But her red lips quirked in a wry smile a second later. "You are _quite_ the clever little one, aren't you?"She laughed.

"I'm not _that_ little," he mumbled petulantly, sitting down fully and glancing at her curiously. Her laugh echoed again, and he didn't think he'd ever heard someone laugh like that. "Do you like Christmas too?" He asked her curiously.

She smiled a bit sadly. "I do. It's a nice time to be with the people you care about. It was in this thinking that I came to visit your father, but he seems a bit busy."

Tony nodded seriously and awkwardly patter her arm like his mother did when he was upset. "Howard always yells when he's busy, and he's busy a lot. Maybe he'll be less busy on Christmas though." He assured her confidently, and her eyes seemed to spark.

"You sure do seem very content with his aggressive tendencies." She said slowly.

Tony frowned a little. He didn't know what '_tendencies'_ meant, but he wasn't supposed to show when he didn't know something. He moved topics then instead of trying to figure that out. "I think you're too nice to be friends with my dad." He blurted out, blushing a little when he realized that was probably a mean thing to say.

Ms. Peggy, for her part, only chuckled a bit breathlessly at his declaration.

"He was one of my only friends in the world many years ago, when the war ended. I remember him that way, but… he's changed a lot." She admitted, grimacing a little.

"Really?" Tony perked up, fascinated. "What was he like? Was that when he was with Captain America?" He said excitedly.

She looked startled for a second and then smiled kindly. "You know all about Captain America, don't you?"

"Oh yes," He said solemnly. "Howard talks about him all the time! If he comes back, then maybe Howard won't be so busy. That's what I think," He said elatedly.

She seemed very sad at that.

"Oh Tony… that's part of the reason your father and I were fighting just now. You see… I loved Captain Rodgers a lot too, just like your father, and he was one of my closest friends. But he's gone now, and my life has moved on, no matter how painful it's been. Your father refuses to see that. He feels I've betrayed the friendship we three once had by moving on, and finding someone else to be my best friend. I came here tonight to invite him to Christmas dinner with my husband and I, and he didn't take it well."

Tony didn't really have friends, much less having friends to lose in his short life, so a lot of it went over his head. Still, he figured that if Captain America really wasn't coming back… then why was Howard so obsessed with finding him?

"Why isn't Captain America coming back? He'd make Howard so happy if he did." He complained.

Her smile wasn't warm anymore, but really really weary.

She ran a hand through his dark hair comfortingly. "Oh darling, he would if he could. But he's too far away now for any of us to find him." She sighed.

She looked heartbroken, and it made Tony feel a bit guilty for talking about whatever made her sad. Maybe she just missed Captain America too.

He straightened up. "_I_ think," He declared, "That people shouldn't be sad on Christmas. You shouldn't be sad that Captain America is too far away, because if anyone can find him, Howard can." He decided.

She offered him a small smile, putting her smooth hand over his tiny one.

"At what cost, Anthony?" She said softly, and he looked at her in confusion. He couldn't think of a reason why Howard shouldn't keep looking. If he succeeded, both he and Ms. Peggy would be happy again, he was sure of it. She seemed to realize this, and just sighed a little as she made to get to her feet. Tony scrambled up to stand with her, and happily took her hand when she offered it to him.

She led them to the front door and he all but skipped along with her, very happy to have met the very nice lady. He was sad to see her go, but he welcomed her warm hug and gentle kiss to his cheek that left red lipstick on his skin as she left, and felt much better about Christmas that he had an hour ago.

000

Two days later, he was sitting under the same Christmas tree, looking up at its lights and having a hard time remembering his earlier excitement. He'd woken up that morning to only the maids who didn't celebrate Christmas making breakfast, the sound of Christmas carols coming from the radio and echoing through the very empty house.

He'd eaten in silence, already knowing what they were going to say before the main told him, and still he felt really heavy with its knowledge, having had it confirmed. He kind of felt stiff. And tired.

So he sat under the tree, and pulled one of the books on physics he's taken from his dad's library to sit quietly and read in the still morning. That is, until…

"…Tony?"

The voice was soft, but he recognized it anyway in the empty, silent room. His head shot up and he grinned upon seeing the woman in the doorway—her lips still red and matching her bright red scarf, still splattered with snowflakes from outside.

"Ms. Peggy!" He said happily, ditching the book to the floor and running over to her excitedly. He came to a screeching halt right in front of her, grinning straight up at her kind smile. She looked kind of sad though too, and he wondered why.

"Hey there, kiddo." She chuckled, ruffling his hair and he bounced on the balls of his toes happily. "Tony, where's your dad?"

His spirits sunk a little. Maybe she was only here for business.

"He's in Chicago today, he said he'll be back by the weekend." He recited dutifully, and Peggy frowned. "You don't have to leave though, right? Dad's not here but we can have hot chocolate, right? I mean, it's cold outside!" He exclaimed, and her face looked startled for a moment before she smiled.

"Well of course I'd love some hot chocolate. I don't have anywhere to be after all, and its Christmas!" She all but cheered, and he cheered too, his spirits soaring again.

The maids made pretty good hot chocolate, but Ms. Peggy told them to put cinnamon in it, and then Tony decided he'd never have hot chocolate the regular way again after his first sip of the delightful treat. He talked her ear off about the book he'd just been reading, and even listened eagerly as she told him about her husband and how they never really celebrated Christmas before because of their work. She didn't tell him _what_ exactly she did, but Tony knew when not to ask questions to adults.

She told him about other books on fantasy and fiction that she loved to read as a child, but he'd never heard of things like that. Why would someone make up lies and _why_ would someone make a book of it if it wasn't real? She'd spent a really long time explaining that to him, and by the end of it his curiosity was peaked enough to maybe ask his mother when she returned from wherever she'd run off to to buy him one.

Ms. Peggy promised that even if Maria said no, she'd find a way to bring him one anyway.

The afternoon dragged on, and after several cups of hot chocolate, one movie on the television that Ms. Peggy told him he _must_ see (and had something to do with a reindeer with a glowing red nose, which delighted and confused him to no end), and a tour of Tony's own not-so-little work space his father had set him up with to show her all the things he'd been building lately, she finally said she had to go.

She looked really regretful about it too, so Tony didn't put up too much of a fight despite how sad that made him.

"Wait," He breathed, having an idea. He ran all the way to the tree and dragged the lone present beside it out into the front hall and pushed it into her arms before she could say anything. "You should have this. It's the only present I made this year, and you're the only one here to get a present! I think you'll like it, I told you I painted it red!" He said eagerly.

She looked a little shocked, and her expression morphed into something that Tony couldn't place.

"Oh Anthony…" She sighed. "I could never accept this, it's yours!"

He shrugged. "It was supposed to be Howard's. He's not here right now, so I think you should take it. I can make another one that does more stuff. He'll probably like it to be more advanced anyway." He shrugged, pushing the box towards her more insistently as she tired to offer it back.

He was very confused when he saw tears on her cheeks. He hadn't meant to make her cry! What had he done!?

He was doubly confused when she kneeled again, placing the box beside her and hugged him tightly. He figured it wasn't so bad if she was still hugging him, so he hugged her back as strongly as he could. He really liked her perfume, and she was warm and soft.

When she let him go, she kissed his cheek again and he didn't bother to try and wipe away the red lipstick he knew was now painted there. She smiled broadly, looking very happy and very sad at the same time with the tears still in her eyes.

"You are a remarkable young man, Anthony Stark. Don't let your father tell you differently." She said. "Have a happy Christmas."

He hugged her again, reluctant to see her go. He kind of felt that her goodbye was intended for a lot longer than he might've wished. After all, she and Howard were fighting, so she'd explained, and what Howard wanted Howard got.

"Thank you for being my friend, and for being here on Christmas." He told her sullenly as she stood up from their hug. He felt her hand on his cheek and then the door closed.

He ran through the halls and to the front sitting room, where he hopped up on the sofa and leaned over the back to catch a glimpse of her getting into a long silver car in the front drive. Even from here he could tell she was crying again.

He watched it drive away and then sank into the grey cushions, his spirits lifted, yet still slightly skewed, like a picture frame clinging by only one wire thread and hanging lopsided on the wall. It'd been a weird day, and he didn't understand a lot of it. One thing he did know though…

He already missed the lady who liked red.


End file.
